Harry woke early on Sunday morning, well before the rest of the household was awake, and lay in bed staring at a stain in Percy's bedroom ceiling.

It had been a month full of surprises, he reflected. Ginny's personality, Tom's advice, Dobby's unpredictability. Harry was not able to tell whether he truly thought he had keep the timeline safe for his plan, or if he was merely hoping that he had. But either way, Harry was secure in the knowledge that he had his second year at Hogwarts sorted. It rather took the pressure off him, and now he had the mental headspace to start considering other things.

For example: enjoying his holiday. Harry had nothing urgent to do during this one week at the Burrow, so he lay in his cot and relaxed until he heard Mrs Weasley potter down the creaky stairs and begin clattering around in the kitchen.

Craning his head carefully, Harry checked to see if Percy was still asleep. Judging by the slow breaths and strangely child-like face as he nestled into his pillow, Harry judged Percy was probably not going to wake any time soon.

That being the case, Harry slowly raised himself from the cot without the help of his wandlight, and fumbled around the bedroom, groping his way towards his trunk in the dim grey light of the morning.

Softly, silently, Harry snuck down into the compartment of his trunk to change without disturbing anyone, and then edged out of the small room to trudge down the creaky stairs, intending to go to the kitchen to help with breakfast.

Ron would probably mock him when Mrs Weasley mentioned it to him later, but Harry was trying to change himself. Helping out was the kind of thing Hermione might do, after all. Plus, it was a learning opportunity.

He stepped quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he could see Mrs Weasley poking about in the cupboards. She seemed from the back to be calm and relaxed, probably enjoying the strange, silent solitude of the morning even more than he was.

"Morning Mrs Weasley," Harry said.

She jumped. Then she spun around. "Oh, goodness Harry. You're much quieter than my children! What a shock for my poor old heart. Don't you go telling my twins now, or we'll never hear the end of it."

Harry felt she had a point.

"Now," she continued, removing her hand from over her heart and beginning to bustle around the kitchen space. "What can I do for you, dear? You're a bit early for breakfast, I haven't even started cooking yet. A nice spot of tea, perhaps?"

She poked at the element underneath the kettle with her wand, and a cheerful fire sprang up.

"I thought I could help," Harry offered, realising belatedly that in a kitchen without electricity he might not be much use. "My aunt and uncle are muggle, you know. I don't really know how all this kitchen stuff works for wizards, but I'm sure I could help."

"Well Harry dear, that's very kind of you. But I wouldn't want to put you out?"

Harry insisted, and soon Mrs Weasley had him laying out the plates and cutlery.

"What next, Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked politely.

Mrs Weasley smiled at him. "Normally I do the eggs about now, dear. How do you feel about that?"

"Eggs?" Harry was confused. He used to cook eggs for the Dursley's breakfast all the time. You did them last. What kind of eggs did she want to cook that needed to be done now?

Mrs Weasley reached around a corner and deposited a wicker basket in his hand.

"Maybe our clock can help you out," Mrs Weasley smiled. "Take a look and tell me what you think."

Harry clutched the basket tightly and gazed up at the kitchen clock. This wasn't the family clock, with all the names on it. This clock only had one hand. Currently, it was pointing to, "Time to feed the chickens".

It took a moment for Harry to realise what it meant.

"Er…"

Mrs Weasley seemed to feel sorry for him. Harry wondered bemusedly what kind of face he was making. "It's alright dear, everyone has their first time sometime. How about you come with me then, and I'll show you how to do it."

She stepped through the kitchen door and into the back garden. "We keep the chicken mash here; I fixed it up last night so all we need to do it shake it out today. You'll notice our hens just wander all over the place, but I know where they like to lay their eggs, and we'll nip in and help ourselves while the chickens are feeding. Have a look under that bush over on the left…"

Harry followed Mrs Weasley around the garden, following her directions. He'd never really looked at the chickens before, as they generally ran around doing their own thing. However, now that Harry was holding the basket and rummaging around their nests, he realised that they could move very fast indeed, and unexpectedly too.

Mrs Weasley was kind enough to pretend she didn't notice Harry twitch whenever a chicken rushed his way, and after five minutes Harry even managed to forget about the phantom, stabby pains around his ankles, where he first imagined the chickens might peck him.

It seemed strangely quick and efficient after the fact, and soon Harry found that the basket was full and Mrs Weasley was once again bustling about the kitchen. This time, she was clattering around with pots and pans. A big, copper cauldron hung over the fire, and the water in it was soon bubbling away merrily.

"Shake the oats into the pot for me Harry, won't you?" Mrs Weasley asked, "And give it a stir, there's a good lad." Harry got the porridge started while he tried to stay out of Mrs Weasley's way.

It was incredible watching her move around the kitchen. She had economy of movement down to an art.

The fire in the stove was on and the stove top had warmed up, so Mrs Weasley threw a handful of sausages and bacon into a pan without looking.

As another pan was placed next to it, Mrs Weasley opened her pantry and sliced off a few chunks of butter with a couple of twitches from her wand. Another twitch, and they flew out across the kitchen, some into pots and frying pans, two into little ramekins. The ramekins themselves spun out into the air with a twirl – Harry ducked – to land at each end of the table, near where the toast would soon be.

Tomatoes and mushrooms were soon sliced and landed sizzling in the empty buttered pan. Her wand still darted around, levitating milk from a large jug into smaller pitchers for the table; orange juice also coursed like a ribbon in the air, from somewhere in the pantry, into a carafe for the meal. Her right hand waved her wand with all the control and magnificence of a famous conductor; with her left hand Mrs Weasley shook the pans on the stove.

Hot sizzling sounds and cooking smells wafted through the room, and Harry swallowed as he found his mouth watering.

Another wave of her wand, and Harry watched in amazement slices of cheese peeled off a larger block – two, four, eight, before he lost count – and spun their way over to a plate on the table.

A full loaf of bread appeared from somewhere within the pantry while Mrs Weasley's back was turned – Harry had no idea how she'd done it – and as soon as she turned around to eye it, it fell apart into slices which zoomed directly onto toasting forks to orbit around by the open fire.

Harry had to take a step back to make space for the hovering toast, but otherwise stood by his cauldron of porridge and stirred it with the ladle quietly. He had thought it was intimidating standing next to Hermione in the library, but she had nothing on this!

Did all witches cook this way? Harry's newly developed study habits twitched, and he determined to buy himself a household hints book. There had to be something, didn't there?

Yet to Harry's confusion, while Mrs Weasley seemed to have lots of food preparation to do – and so superbly, too – it didn't seem like the quantity of food would meet the needs of a horde of Weasley sons.

Harry blinked as the pile of sausages seemed to double, new sausages popping into existence at the top of the stack. The eggs, still in their basket, seemed to inhale, shrug and swell in size to double their volume. Three different colours of jam expanded over the top of their respective preserve jars, and dolloped wetly into a series of porcelain jam dishes – yet the preserve jars never got emptier. Curious, Harry leaned forward to peer around Mrs Weasley's body and looked eagerly to the bacon. He was leaning in, trying to spot what Mrs Weasley was doing with her wand, when a handful of raisins got thrown in his face.

"Oh my goodness, Harry! I forgot you were there." Mrs Weasley apologised profusely. She stopped her whirlwind of movement to pat his face gently with one hand. "Not injured too badly, I hope. Now, if any of my boys could keep as quiet as you do…Here, could you throw these into the porridge for me and give it another stir?"

Harry stepped up to collect the new raisins in his cupped hands, then carefully poured them into the cauldron over the fire.

"And perhaps you could carry these sausages to the table? People will be down any minute. Oh, good morning, Hermione dear. How did you sleep?"

Hermione, her hair running rampant over her head, blinked in the early morning and smiled their way.

"Morning Mrs Weasley. Morning Harry. I smelt breakfast."

"Any moment dear," Mrs Weasley called back, already returned to her cooking. "Just pick a seat, toast's on its way. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?"

Harry hovered awkwardly between returning to the kitchen to get in Mrs Weasley's way, or giving up on his self-assigned role and joining Hermione at the table.

However, soon Mrs Weasley chased him kindly out of the kitchen. He joined Hermione at the table, and they began self-consciously filling their plates, before being joined by Mr Weasley. Then George bounded down into the kitchen, with Fred scrambling down the staircase soon after, and his feeling of displacement disappeared as it seemed the household was awake for the day.

They were still waiting for the others to join them – Harry knew how much Ron liked sleeping in – when a thought occurred to Harry and his mouth moved before he thought.

"Mr Weasley," he began, "Ron told me you work with bewitched objects and cursed things?"

Arthur Weasley beamed at him. "Wonderful news, Harry. I always thought Ron thought it was a somewhat boring position. How magnificent to know he's been telling you about it."

"The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?" Harry queried.

"I do indeed. Why do you ask?"

"Well," began Harry bashfully, "I merely thought that you must have a lot of experience with detecting dangerous enchantments. And danger that isn't enchantments – strange ingredients, hexes and curses, that sort of thing."

Percy clattered down the stairs at this point, and set about filling his plate. The table was noisy: the twins teasing their mother, Hermione greeting Percy, the kettle boiling again, so Mr Weasley had to raise his voice to respond.

"How fascinating you've realised that," said Mr Weasley admiringly. "Most of my boys think I do paperwork, strangely enough. Not that they're entirely wrong, of course, but then working for the Ministry is more complicated that you might think."

Percy looked up sharply to follow the conversation.

"Goodness," said Harry, noticing when he did. "I thought it would mostly be organising things, networking…along with the vital functions of running the country, of course."

"You're not wrong," Mr Weasley admitted, "but that's only scratching the surface. People who go into the Ministry thinking that get eaten up and spat out."

Harry shot a glance at Percy.

Mr Weasley continued cheerfully. "Politics, Harry, is a dirty great beast you should never turn your back on. It's all about compromise and fighting your way up. Not all the enchantments I do are aimed at the muggles, you realise."

"Eh?"

"Oh yes," Mr Weasley nodded. "We're an independent old lot, British witches and wizards, we are. Generally we tend to do our own thing and damn th– , yes dear, sorry Molly." Mr Weasley met his wife's eyes shamefully, and took advantage of a mouthful to pause. "We tend to do our own thing, and, er, leave the rules to other sorts. Not much call for a centralised government, of course, unlike the poor muggles. I suppose you'd know all about that, Harry?"

"Not really?" Harry quirked his head. "You mean, like muggle Parliament?"

"Exactly," Mr Weasley beamed, as he buttered another slice of toast. "Muggles need their societies to survive: they have a different economy, apparently. Molly has a second cousin who knows all about it." He waved the jam knife excitably. "Why, I've heard tell that they think our economy is run on what they call 'Cottage Industry' principles, as if their version is somehow more advanced." He shook his head in bafflement. "As if needing a government to give stability to its people is somehow preferable. Barely any muggles produce 'Cottage Industry' so their government has to look after them in other ways. Controlling businesses and industry and whatnot. Wizards don't need that kind of management, of course. But I'm getting off topic. Where was I?"

"The enchantments?"

"Oh yes," Mr Weasley beamed at Harry. "Sometimes I have to…you could call it building fences, between the wizarding world and their muggle neighbours. Stop a muggle dog wandering onto his wizard neighbour's property where he'll eat the dirigible plums: floating pets always cause a panic, I can tell you. But other times, I'm called to help out the wizards down the hallway: cursed letters, booby-trapped mail, weather indoors; you wouldn't believe what wizards do to other wizards. So I tend to run around with my wand a lot, putting out fires." He laughed. "Sometimes literally. Then I try to enchant against that for next time, but of course that's a job that will never be done. Our Ministry is all about serving the individual wizard, when you get right down to it." He nodded cheerful to the table at large and then took a large swig of tea.

Percy put down his toast. "But, I presume, the higher calling of the Ministry, the purpose of the government remains to direct –"

"So you might think."

"But the Prophet always said –"

"As it has to."

"Surely, legislation must –"

"That's what they like you to believe. But the truth is much more self-serving."

Harry watched in interest as Mr Weasley nodded significantly at his son before changing the topic. "But that's not what you were asking about Harry. What was it you wanted to know?"

Harry sat up. "I reset a whole bunch of mail wards this summer, and a bunch of people I don't know have given me birthday presents. Could you check them for me to see if they're safe, do you think?"

"Wonderful idea, Arthur," Mrs Weasley exclaimed form behind Harry, making him jump. "Who knows what kind of riffraff have been sending him presents."

"Like toilet seats?" Fred piped up. "We didn't realise you were fair game, Harry!"

Molly whacked him gently on the head with a wooden spoon. "You stop your nonsense. The poor boy has enough to worry about without you lot getting on his case. After breakfast, Harry dear, I'm sure Arthur can find time."

The conversations drifted on, particularly when Neville, Ginny and Ron joined the table. Harry, however, kept an interested eye on Percy, who seemed slightly more thoughtful than usual.

After breakfast he found Mr Weasley follow him into Percy's bedroom, where Harry retrieved all the gifts he had stashed away.

"My word!" Mr Weasley exclaimed as he looked at the pile. "From total strangers, you say? I can see why you asked."

Percy walked in just as Harry sat down on his cot, and was similarly stunned. Together, they stared as Mr Weasley picked up a square gift and turned it thoughtfully.

"What are you doing?" Harry wondered.

Percy spoke too. "Which spells do you start with?"

"Take a guess."

Percy spoke. "Finite seems obvious, then – "

"No, no," Mr Weasley interrupted hurriedly. "No. If something has been spelled for malicious purpose, using a finite is the first spell they will have set up to counter. Not always, of course. But if they have, I can almost guarantee the results would be explosive."

Harry looked on interestedly as Percy seemed lost for words.

"First," Mr Weasley continued, "you have to really look at it. See what you're working with. Does it shine? Does it glow? Does it throb with magic in your mage sight?"

"Mage sight?"

"A specialised skill that advanced wizards might pick up over years of dedicated study," Percy beat his father in responding to Harry's question, and Harry gasped appreciatively. "Incredibly difficult to achieve. Rumour has it that Albus Dumbledore is one of the few wizards who have achieved true success in the discipline. It seems a little unlikely for such an exceptional skill to be the first step in disenchanting."

Mr Weasley chuckled. "Oh, it's not, for your average wizard. It took me over twenty years to pick it up to a functional level myself."

Percy boggled.

"Bill will get there too, eventually. For now, come along."

Harry stood, curious, as his pile of gifts rose into the air and followed Arthur out of the bedroom like ducklings. He glanced at Percy, who looked like he had been hit over the head with a Confundus.

"Coming?" Harry asked.

The two of the trooped out of the room, following the string of gifts tumbling and bobbing until they passed through the front door. There they saw a grinning Arthur, who had laid the gifts out in a line on the ground, and now gestured to his audience.

"Harry, stand here. Percy, if you don't mind," he reached out and turned them by their shoulders until both boys stood with their backs facing the Burrow.

"Mage sight is a fabulous skill, if you've got the time for it. It's saved my life more than once. Mad-Eye Moody, too. For young lads like yourself, boys," Arthur drew his wand in readiness, "you can replicate the effect with charms on yourself. Occuluseo."

He waved his wand, causing Harry to blink, astonished, at the sudden blossoming of wisps of light around the gift-wrapped parcels lined up on the ground.

Mr Weasley explained. "What you're seeing here are the charms on the wrapping. If you turned around now – don't do it, just listen first – you would notice that the Burrow is also exhibiting the same – Percy! Stop and listen – the same effects, but many times brighter."

Harry watched as Percy stopped trying to spin around and settled down to look at his father.

"Because I am the one who has cast this spell on you, I will not have the instinct to adapt it if you look at something that shines too brightly for your mind. Which is why you will not be looking at the Burrow tonight. The charms that keep the Burrow standing are much more powerful and enduring. A warning, boys," his voice turned stern, "never let anyone cast this spell on you in Hogwarts. In fact, avoid doing it yourself until you develop sufficient control. You could be blinded, and medi-witches can't do much for blindness caused by magic itself. For now, Harry, you can try to unravel the spells on your presents here. For you in particular, it's a skill you'll need to know."

Harry swallowed.

"Now see here, Harry," Mr Weasley beckoned him closer, and they crouched over a rumpled parcel near the end of the line. "The first spell you should probably learn is dispergo, which will allow you to better see the layers in the spell weave. It's a soft swirl, loosen your wrist, add a bit of a twist. Percy, you can do this too."

Three minutes later Harry was staring, fascinated, at a mass of layers of light.

"Now the green glow," Mr Weasley reached out and gently twitched a layer with his wand, "or specifically, the silver layer with the tinge of green, is the base layer of the gift wrap. Paper based, you can see, from the stable brightness and lack of pulsing – trees have an enduring life-magic, Harry. Tree-magic does pulse, of course," he nodded to Percy, who looked like he wanted to take notes, "but their life-rhythm is so much slower than wizards that it is invisible to the eye. Cotton and linen, for example, would have a barely recognisable pulse, being from shorter lived plants."

"What would wool do?" Harry asked, fascinated.

"Good question," Mr Weasley beamed. "It shivers, I've always thought. There is more energy, more action, in creature- and beast-magic." His wand twitched again, this time picking up a thin coppery magic that clung to the base magic. "Now this here, is the imprint of the Snitch pattern – charmed on, not hand-decorated; it's the cheap stuff, Harry. You see how the colour – well, maybe you don't, but it will come with practice; it's brown, for reference – it reflects the nature of the magic, and not the pattern at all? The Snitches are gold, but the magic is not, hrm? And this here represents the animation of the print. Do you see how the static-hiss feels a little like the movement of the Snitches?"

The next half an hour was tremendously exciting for Harry, as Mr Weasley showed him which spells could prod and poke at the magic in his presents. He learned a number of new things, including what sounded suspiciously like some basic curse-breaking spells. He was even allowed to cast his own Occuluseo, which he was assured was not a complete failure. In the end, all of this presents were unwrapped and revealed, revealing only one which had been enchanted to act against him.

Mr Weasley picked it up with a smile.

"Not to worry, Harry. It looks like none of your gifters this time meant anything malicious."

As Mr Weasley stood, the arm holding the teddy bear curled up across his chest peculiarly, causing him to chuckle.

"Even this enchantment means no harm. Someone wants a prettily posed photograph, I should think. This wee little chap will just make you very fond of him. Holding him," he specified, "and I'm feeling the strangest need to smile at people. How fascinating."

Carrying the bear, Mr Weasley returned inside, leaving Harry to turn to Percy in curiosity.

"I didn't know your dad knew curse-breaking skills," he said in wonder. "And mage sight, even. Ron never said!"

"I should imagine not, Harry. I was not aware of this particular skill set of his either. A remarkable oversight on my behalf."

Harry was surprised. Mr Weasley seemed so open, but he played things quite close to his chest, by the looks of things today.

"Do you reckon that's what got Bill into it, then?" Harry wondered.

Percy cocked his head thoughtfully. "A fascinating possibility. I had previously been under the assumption that he was…escaping the family boundaries, so to speak. Perhaps Dad would…I wonder." He changed the subject. "You were particularly quick at picking up some of those spells, just now Harry. You were faster than me for some of them."

Harry shrugged self-consciously. "Ah, your dad was giving me a lot of direction."

"Hrm," Percy murmured, unsatisfied. Harry belatedly realised that most twelve-year-olds would not be capable of outperforming much older students, but a rational excuse escaped him.

Meanwhile, collecting up Harry's gifts with a wave of his own wand, Percy gestured for Harry to join him in walking back to the house. "No, really. You learn new spells at an astounding rate. How did you do in the end-of-year exams, if you do not mind me asking?"

"Ah," Harry blushed. "My theory is terrible, I'm afraid. Not very well at all." Not for his particular circumstance, at any rate.

"It looks like you have potential," Percy encouraged him, sounding suspiciously like he was treating Harry as a younger brother. "Perhaps even a future Prefect in the making? You do know of course that having a solid grasp of the theory will allow your spellcasting to have more power and flexibility? It would support you in learning new spells, as well. I would be willing to make myself available if you need guidance if that is something you might be interested in."

"Oh, really?" Harry knew how useful that could prove then.

"Certainly," Percy assured him. "Fred and George felt that my old school work would lack usefulness, and so I still have all my study notes sitting in my bedroom. If you're interested, I would be quite happy to loan them to you indefinitely."

Harry found himself strangely intrigued. The possibilities seemed fascinating.

The rest of the week passed by pleasantly, as Harry spent time with all of the Weasley family. Except Ginny, who continued to cope badly when stuck in the same room as him.

Hermione, Neville and Ron, of course, spent hours with him. Playing Exploding Snap, Wizard Chess, and even two-against-two with broomsticks and a quaffle.

Meanwhile, Harry continued to help Mrs Weasley out every morning, eventually learning a number of handy household hints. Fred and George didn't let him in their bedroom much, but Harry did manage to overhear some Quidditch strategy they were debating and insert himself into the conversation that way. They seemed surprised that he had such useful opinions. Harry didn't feel the need to share with them that he had been Quidditch Captain in a previous timeline.

He even tinkered a little bit with Mr Weasley in his shed, although he couldn't provide much knowledge of muggle mechanics, and none at all about electronics. Harry did feel, however, that his definition of the purpose of the rubber duck was superb. Of all the strange things for him to remember, this had stuck in his mind, and he had anticipated the question and planned ahead. After the fact, Harry took the triumph with him for the rest of the week.

"Well, Mr Weasley," he had begun formally, standing with Mr Weasley in the little shed out back. "The rubber ducky was originally something to chew. It has all sorts of fat bits and thin bits and so on, so for teething children and dogs, there was always some shape or form for chewing that would best suit.

"The rubber duck evolved to float slightly later, partly as an advertising gimmick, but it really became famous when a muggle character on a…erm, do you know of the telly? Television? Like the wireless, but with pictures too…when it was the subject of a very popular song for kids. And now they're just part of the culture where every kid learns the song and wants a rubber ducky for a few months."

He stepped back and awaited his audience.

"Why, Harry!" beamed Mr Weasley widely. "What a simply marvellous idea. Muggle culture! How delightful. An integral part of muggle childhood. The history, the mystery! The romance!" He stopped, arrested. "Can you sing the song?"

Harry checked behind him very carefully for any sight of Ron or Neville. He cautiously turned to make sure the bangs and whistles were still sounding from the twins' bedroom. He listened closely to any surreptitious noises that might be nearby the little shed. He made sure that the repetitive explosions were coming from the twin's bedroom. And then, ignoring his rising blush, Harry cleared his throat and raised his voice in chorus.